


Pet

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: After the Fall, Comfort, Dreams and Nightmares, Kissing, M/M, Mind Palace, Nothing To Do With Series 3, petting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:43:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2006220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finds a way of coping with Sherlock's return from the dead, despite the fact that it's sneaky and a bit intrusive. When the truth comes out, more secrets are revealed that will change their relationship forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John Keeps A Secret From Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

John had gotten into the silly habit of, every time Sherlock was lost in his mind palace, passing by the sofa and petting his hair. Just once, very lightly, just to remind himself that he really was back. Sherlock never moved, he never said anything, and he never brought it up afterwards. John wondered if he could even feel it happening, and a small part of him wished he couldn't because it was a bit embarrassing. This morning, however, he'd woken up from a terrible nightmare about the fall and he came downstairs quite shaken up. When he saw Sherlock on the sofa, his heart stopped and he hesitated, waiting for him to disappear. But of course he didn't, and like all the other times, he just needed proof that Sherlock really was lying on the sofa. 

He moved to the sofa's arm where Sherlock’s head was resting and ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, just like the other times, only this time he couldn't bring his hand away. Hoping Sherlock was really deep in his mind, he curled his arm around Sherlock's head while his free arm slid to his chest and gripped his shirt tightly. _Too much,_ he thought to himself as he dropped his forehead to Sherlock's head. He was solid. Real. Alive and well and home. 

Sherlock had been lying on the sofa since four this morning. He needed a case: without one, there was nothing to distract him from all the confusion in his head. He was spending more and more time in his mind palace but, even there, he couldn't find peace. He had spent two years away and had assumed he could just step back into his old life, but it hadn't been quite as simple as that.

John took deep breaths, breathing him in and taking advantage of the fact that Sherlock wasn't shoving him away. He wondered how long he could stay, knowing that if Sherlock caught him he wouldn't be able to live with the embarrassment. Just two more minutes and he would move. Just two more.

Sherlock tried to flick back through his mind to images from before the fall -- to the day he met John, to the cases they'd solved, to the fun they'd had (before John, Sherlock had never used the word fun to describe any of his experiences, but he couldn't deny that it fit now). But those images were quickly replaced by John's face and voice that day at St Bart's, that day at the cemetery. These memories made Sherlock feel sad and guilty and worried that the damage he'd done was too great to overcome.

John had never been far from his mind the whole time he was gone; he wished there was a way he could let John know that. There were moments that Sherlock thought John understood, but then he'd see how John's face had aged and he felt guilty again. He tried to focus on the first time John had laughed since he'd returned -- that moment felt good, it felt normal. He concentrated on that moment and felt his body relax a bit.

John slowly pulled away. Everything dragged -- his fingers on Sherlock's chest, his fingers in Sherlock's hair, even his nose just a bit. And then he stood there for a moment before finally moving to the kitchen to start the kettle and make some toast.

Suddenly Sherlock tensed again -- in his head, the laugh was replaced by John on the street, John's voice saying no, John being pulled away from Sherlock on the pavement. He felt alone again. This wasn't helping. He left his mind palace and opened his eyes. From the light through the windows, he knew now it must be morning. He had to get a case; he had to find a distraction. He sat up and saw John in the kitchen.   
  
"Morning," he said. "I couldn't sleep so I came to the sofa. You sleep okay?"

"Uh, yeah, I slept okay," John lied. He took his toast out and spread butter on each piece, glancing over at Sherlock. "Pour the tea?"

"All right," Sherlock stood up, stretched and moved into the kitchen. He poured two mugs of tea and sat down at the table. "I think I need a case. I need to be useful," he said, although what he really meant was he needed to _feel_ useful.

"I'm sure something is going to come up," John said, taking his toast and mug to the table. "After breakfast, I'll check the blog and see if anyone emailed."

Sherlock looked over at John and then down at his tea. "So why did you lie about sleeping well?" he asked.

John froze, staring at the piece of toast in his plate. "I didn't," he said quietly, putting the piece in his hand down. More lying. "I mean . . . it wasn't that bad."

"Which means it was somewhat bad," Sherlock said. "You don't have to say if you don't feel comfortable."

"It was just a nightmare," John said. "Nothing I'm not used to. Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Well, unlike you, I'll be completely honest: I'm still settling in to being back," he said, not looking up at John. "I suppose I hadn't realised how much life . . . would go on while I was gone. Bit daft really, maybe it was just a coping mechanism, anyway, I am back now and I'm just adjusting, I guess."

John put his toast down and looked over at him. "It's going to take some time for us to get used to you being home. That's normal after . . . well, everything."

"Well, I don't do normal very well, as you know," Sherlock said. "I'll be fine, I'm sure."

John nodded. "It's different now that you're back. We just need time, okay?"

"And when you say 'we' . . . who do you mean?"

John looked down at his plate again. "You. And me. I mean, it affected me just as much you," he said quietly. "Worse, I think," he looked up again.

"Do you want to say more?" Sherlock asked softly.

"You know a lot of it," John said. "I don't want either of us to get upset, especially since we both already had bad nights. Let's talk about something else," he said. He pulled his tea closer and took a sip.

"All right, but . . . is that what the nightmare was about?" Sherlock asked.

John glanced over. "Don't feel bad, okay? That's what the nightmares are always about, but less since you've come home now." He worried if they continued, the petting would be revealed. He wondered if maybe he should start taking a break from that before Sherlock caught on.

"I do feel bad, John," Sherlock said, "I have explained as much as I could. I wish everything could have been different." Sherlock finished his tea. "I wish I hadn't caused the pain and I wish I had been here to help you get through the pain."

"Sherlock," John sighed, shaking his head. "I promise it's fine now. I understand why you did it, I have forgiven you -- I don't even get them so much anymore. I mean, this is the first one I've had in three weeks!"

"Relax, John," Sherlock said. "It's all right." He looked up at John. "We'll be all right. If you have one again, come get me. I'm here now -- I'm here."

"I-I'm coping," he admitted, grabbing up his tea and taking a big gulp. "I'm sure as I get used to you being home, the nightmares will go away. Before. . . you helped them go away," he smiled.

"Let me help you again . . . if I can," Sherlock said. He stood up. He wasn't used to this, to talking about feelings. He and John had never really done it before he left -- and perhaps that had been a bad choice. He couldn't pretend he was good at it now, but he didn't want to run from it when it faced him. He took his mug to the sink and rinsed it. "So what's the plan for today?"

"I need to go to the shop," John said. "We are almost out of tea and I want to get food for a couple days so I can cook -- just easy stuff so we don't have to order in again."

"All right. Do you want me to come with you?" Sherlock said. He pulled out his wallet and handed John some money. "Here's my contribution."

"You can come if you like," John nodded. "And you can just get it next time -- you've been paying for the takeaway." John washed up his dishes and went to go to his room, but turned and stopped. "I've been thinking about calling Sarah and starting to work again," he said. He had taken time off when Sherlock came back, wanting to be home all the time as if that was going to keep Sherlock from disappearing again. But there was no way he was going to be able to properly move on if he didn't start actually moving on. "Just a couple days for now," he shrugged.

"Yeah, all right," Sherlock said. He did feel a little disappointed -- with no cases and nothing to do, Sherlock had enjoyed having John around all the time. But it was selfish and stupid really; they were supposed to be getting back to normal and John working part time was what had been normal. "Maybe I'll stay here -- I'll check my email, maybe call Lestrade . . ."

"You don't want to come to the shop anymore?" John asked before he could help himself. "I mean -- if you're busy that's fine. It's going to be a quick run anyways. And I'll start working on Monday and see how it goes," he smiled. He left and headed up stairs to put proper clothes on, stuffing his wallet and phone into his jean pockets. He came back down and shrugged on his coat. "Need anything?"

"Look, do you want me to come? I've got nothing going on, John, I can get dressed right now. I can come if you want. Please . . . I know it's not a big thing, but it's difficult to know what you want. It didn't used to be like this. Just tell me: do you want me to come with you?" Sherlock said.

John abandoned any pretense he had before and nodded. "I would like you to come with me," he said. He chalked it up to left over uneasiness from the dream, instead of the crazy thought that he was going to come home and Sherlock was going to be gone. Of course that could be blamed on the dream as well, but he had come to accept the fact that things like that affected him more than the normal person.  _It's been six months. He's not a hallucination._ John ignored the voice. "I'll wait for you." 

"Thank you for being honest, John," Sherlock said, smiling. He stood up and moved to his room and quickly dressed. He grabbed his coat and moved to the door. "Let's go then," he said. "Let's walk there and we can get a cab back."

They headed out to the street. After a few minutes, Sherlock said, "I used to pretend -- when I was walking on a busy street like this, I used to pretend you were walking beside me. I wouldn't turn my head to see that you weren't. I'd just convince myself you were." He didn't turn his head now to look at John.

John looked over at him, and then forward again when he saw Sherlock wasn't going to look over. He swallowed hard. "I used to see you in the flat. And I did look -- every time -- for as long as I could keep you there," he said. It was easier to admit when he wasn't the only one. They could be crazy together.

"Well, now you can see me in the flat because I'll be in the flat. And I'll see you walking beside me because you will be," he looked over and smiled at John. It was one of his genuine smiles, and he knew by the way John used to smile back that he recognised it as genuine and that always made Sherlock feel good without really understanding why.

John nodded and only just stopped himself from admitting the petting. Sherlock didn't need to hold his hand as they walked just to know that John really was walking beside him, so there was no reason for John to be touching Sherlock all the time. Well, no sane reason anyways. He really would have to stop that for a while. "It's nice," he said finally as he pulled himself out of his own head. 

"It is," Sherlock said, "you'd be surprised how much one misses normal things like going to the shop." He didn't say more. As John had said earlier, the conversations about the missing two years had already passed; there was no need to open all that up again. It was time to focus on the now. He opened the door for John once they got to the shop.

John grabbed a basket from beside the door and slung it on his arm. "I was thinking spaghetti, but if you want something for tomorrow or the next day just toss it in," he said. "Or for tonight. I'm not picky," he smiled.

Sherlock tagged behind John, not really adding much in the way of food. He threw in a few boxes of tea, but let John do most of the choosing. He kind of liked it like that.

An hour later John had a basket fill of different things to make for at least three days, heading up to the check out. "Nothing else?" He asked Sherlock as the girl behind the counter scanned the items.

"Here," Sherlock said, handing him a bottle of wine. "Just in case -- a glass before bed might help one or both of us."

"Oh, good idea," John nodded, adding that to the line. He paid and handed Sherlock one bag while he grabbed the other two. "They're not so heavy -- do you mind walking back as well?"

"Of course not," Sherlock said. "It's a nice day." They headed out to the street.

John looked around as they walked, thinking about what Sherlock had said before, about imagining John with him while he was away. John had good reason for playing imaginary friends, thinking that Sherlock was dead and would never be seen again. But Sherlock had to know -- or at least suspect -- that he was going to see John again. So why imagine him? That was the sort of sentiment he always claimed was distracting. He glanced over at Sherlock again and then looked forward, smiling to himself.

"Did you ever think of actually asking aloud the questions that come into your head, John Watson?" Sherlock asked. He glanced over at him and smiled. "Have you really forgotten that I hear the noise in there even if I don't know what it's saying?"

John flushed lightly and shook his head. "There's very good reason for that," he said, not elaborating further. He remembered the day in Dartmoor when Sherlock had admitted to their being friends, but he hardly ever showed it. That's why John felt so happy when he saw physical proof -- it was something quite rare. He thought about what Sherlock said again, smiling even wider.

"Your grin -- should it worry me?" Sherlock said.

John shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, Sherlock. It's good things, I promise." He grinned up at Sherlock, nudging his arm with his elbow.

"All right, John Watson, I'll trust you," Sherlock said. He smiled as well.

John went back to facing forward, finally composing his face a bit. When they got to the flat John took the bag from Sherlock. "I'll put these away while you call Lestrade," he said, moving into the kitchen.

Sherlock rang Lestrade and spoke to him as John put things away. When he hung up, he moved into the kitchen and turned on the kettle.

"Not much going on," Sherlock said. "Maybe there will be something on the blog. I'm just bored, I guess. And I get distracted by un-useful thoughts."

John nodded. "Well, check the blog and see." After the groceries were put away John called Sarah and set up a schedule, just three days a week. Then he sat on the sofa and turned on the telly. "I'll start dinner in a couple hours, okay?"

"All right, no rush," Sherlock said, joining him on the sofa. "I'm sleepy. I didn't sleep well last night." He turned a bit to lean his head back.

"Take a nap. I'll wake you up when dinner is done," he said, flipping through the channels.

"I might," Sherlock said, curling up a little. "What about you? Are you going to nap?"

"I don't think so," he said. "I don't like sleeping in the middle of the day. I'll be okay."

"Do you want me to go into my room? I don't want to annoy you," Sherlock said.

"You're not annoying me, Sherlock. As long as you're comfortable, you can sleep wherever you want." John smiled at him and settled on a documentary about the planets.

Sherlock closed his eyes. He listened to the noise of the telly, he heard John's breathing, he was pretty sure he could hear Mrs Hudson fussing downstairs in her kitchen. These were the noises of the flat. His home. He could feel his body relaxing.

John glanced at him, and then looked properly, smiling softly. He wasn't sure if Sherlock had totally fallen asleep yet so he gripped the remote to stop himself from touching his cheek or his hair. He listened to the documentary but watched Sherlock.

In Sherlock's dream, he was revisiting good memories. Most of them involved John and this was okay with Sherlock. They were good thoughts, good times. And John was always there.

John focused on Sherlock's breathing, waiting for it to become heavy and slow. When it did, John reached out and grazed his cheek, sliding it up into his hair and petting softly. He bit his lip, nervous about being caught. But it was nice, made him feel calm.

In Sherlock's mind, he focused on John. He had memorised his John's face before he left -- he had wanted to be able to see it in his head so clearly while he was gone. When he first saw John's face when he returned, he noticed how much older it looked and felt guilty, knowing he had caused that.

John held his breath as his hand moved in Sherlock's hair -- just the fingertips, slow and easy so he wouldn't wake Sherlock up. This was different than the mind palace -- riskier because he could wake up at any moment. It seemed to John the mind palace was harder to come out of than sleep. After a few minutes he reluctantly pulled his hand away. He didn't want to but he knew if he were caught he'd never be able to do it again. He gripped the remote before getting up to start dinner. 

Something changed in Sherlock's dream, and John suddenly felt further away from him and he was back to when he was away. Those times were horrible; the dream made Sherlock's muscles tense and almost made it hard to breathe and he started coughing, waking himself up. He sat up on the sofa and coughed a few more times. John was no longer there, and he quickly looked to the kitchen, relieved to see him there. He took a few more deep breaths to calm himself. 

"You all right?" John asked, hearing Sherlock coughing in the sitting room. He stirred the spaghetti, turning on another burner to start making the sauce. 

"Yeah," Sherlock said. He poured himself a glass of water and took a drink. "How was the end of the show? Do you need help with anything?" he asked, even though he really wasn't interested in helping.

"Oh no, everything is almost done. How do you feel? Better rested?" John asked, looking over at him. 

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "I can't seem to have a proper sleep without a disruption that wakes me and then I feel a bit . . . off. I'm not sure why that keeps happening." He set out some plates and silverware. Then he remembered the wine and uncorked it before pouring two glasses.

"Are you having bad dreams as well?" John asked, serving up the pasta. 

"I don't know, I guess," Sherlock said, picking at his food. "I don't know that I have dreams -- I have thoughts and memories -- I guess those things are like dreams. And I have the mind palace. It's just usually, I have control over those things, and since coming back, those things seem less under my control, I guess."

John frowned slightly as they went to the table. "Why do you think that is? I mean, what's making you feel out of control?" John had found a way to cope with his nightmares and he felt a bit guilty that, while secretly using Sherlock for that, Sherlock was suffering with nothing to help him.

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "I really don't. It's not usual -- it bothers me when I think about it. I'm hoping it's just adjusting to being back. I guess that's why I keep hoping for a case -- I can control things when I'm trying to solve a case."

"Well, if I can do anything just let me know," John said. He took a sip of his wine and hummed. It was very good.

Sherlock ate some food, which tasted good, though he knew he'd never finish everything John had piled onto his plate. "Thanks for making dinner," he said. All of a sudden he felt bad about how much John did around the flat. "I'm sorry I don't help out more around here," he said quietly. "Now that you're going back to work, I'll try to pull my weight."

"There's nothing to be sorry about, Sherlock. I . . . well, I like doing it. After two years, it's nice to take care of you again," John smiled, looking up at him. "Honest. Don't feel bad, okay?"

The use of the phrase 'take care of you' -- it would have bothered Sherlock before, but somehow it didn't bother him as much right now. He had missed being taken care of, he was glad for it now. But he wasn't sure if he wanted John to know that: it didn't seem fair really. So he said, "Still. I can keep things a little tidier." 

"Well, I'm not going to fight you," he grinned. "Just don't worry about it, okay? It's all fine."

"I'm not making any promises, of course," Sherlock said. "But I can still try. . . are you worried about going back to work?"

"Not worried, exactly. Just nervous, I guess. But I'm starting back slow so it'll be fine," John smiled. He mixed his food around a bit before taking another bite of it.

"John, if you . . . need anything, please let me know. I don't know what I can do, but tell me and I will try," Sherlock looked down at his food, trying to look up through his hair to see John's face.

_I want to be touching some part of you every second so I know you're real._ John looked down at his food and mixed it around again. "That goes for you, too," John said.

"We'll see . . . I've already taken so much from you," Sherlock said softly.

"You saved my life, Sherlock. And now you're home and we're moving on, okay? I forgive you," John insisted. His hand twitched forward to take Sherlock's, but he covered it up by taking his wine glass instead. "I forgive you," he repeated before taking a drink.

"So you've said, John," Sherlock said, still looking down at the table. "But maybe it's not about that at all. I mean, I appreciate your forgiveness, of course, I do. But I still have more to think about, I guess."

"Like what?" John asked, watching him closely now. "I admit that, just because I forgive you, things haven't been erased completely. There are still . . . feelings I have to work through, things I have to get used to. But I don't want you feeling bad all the time, feeling like you owe me something."

"I suppose . . . I don't know," Sherlock said. It was hard to verbalise because he still wasn't sure. But this felt less about how John felt and more about how Sherlock felt about John. Before he left, Sherlock was so clear -- he had left to protect his friends, the people he loved. He understood _those_ feelings; after all, he'd had two years to process them. But coming home, seeing what he had done to John's life . . . even though John had forgiven him, Sherlock felt he still had to be more accountable. John was right: things couldn't be changed. But Sherlock hoped that whatever was going on in his head was serving a purpose, helping him understand what everything meant.

"It's like . . . when I hide your cigarettes," John smiled, looking down at his food again. "You hate it, it makes you miserable and angry but I am doing it for your own good. To help you. That's what the jump was. I was miserable and angry, but it was for my own good. You saved me. Just . . . quit smoking and save me the trouble and we'll be even," he grinned, looking up at Sherlock again.

"Okay," Sherlock said, but he wasn't convinced it was quite that simple. John just had more experience with feelings in general. Sherlock didn't. He finished eating and stood up to wash the dishes. He pushed John away when he tried to help. Once he'd finished, he put on the kettle and sat back down at the table. "What are your plans for the rest of the night?" he asked.

"I think I'm going to go to bed early -- I'm tired from last night," he admitted. He finished off his wine and smiled at Sherlock. "You?"

Sherlock finished washing and drying all the dishes, but poured himself one more glass of wine. "Maybe I'll read or something on the sofa for a bit while I finish this," Sherlock said. "I don't want to try to sleep if I'm not ready to yet."

"Okay," John nodded. "I'll be up for a bit while I digest -- I don't want to lay down feeling so full -- so if you need anything just let me know." He grabbed his book from his chair and headed upstairs. "Good night, Sherlock." Once in his room John stripped down to his pants and crawled into bed, leaning against the headboard.

He stared at his book but didn't open it. He thought about the day Sherlock returned. He had known the second he saw him, that nothing was going to be the same again. They had talked about his anger towards Sherlock, how betrayed he'd felt, and then how upset he'd been. John tried to recall Sherlock talking about his time away but couldn't -- he was always so vague.

Sherlock had admitted to imagining John was with him and suddenly John was craving to know more. What exactly happened to Sherlock while he was away to make him so . . .sentimental? And Sherlock felt so guilty despite John telling him that he was forgiven, that it was okay now. Why? John looked towards the door and wondered what was bothering Sherlock.

John got up again and put on his dressing gown, heading back downstairs. He sat on the sofa facing Sherlock, legs pulled up onto the sofa. "Will you tell me about your time away?"

"I can't," Sherlock said. "Some of it is classified -- and the information would be irrelevant to you anyway. It doesn't matter, does it?" he asked. He knew it did, but somehow it seemed easier for him to keep all that inside.

"I don't want to know about the criminals and the information, Sherlock. I want to know about you. Please," John said, keeping his eyes on Sherlock.

Sherlock shifted on the sofa, turning slightly away from John. "It was hard -- not knowing always where I was or where I was going. It was the first time I was . . . lonely. I'd always been alone, well, before you, but after you, it was different. I was lonely." That was so much for Sherlock to say; he wondered if John knew how big that was.

John looked down and wondered if that would make it easier for him to talk about it. "I was, too. I knew what you had done for me when we first met, and I complained all the time about the crazy hours and the experiments and being tired all the time but when you were gone . . . it was so much worse than it was before I knew you." John rested his forehead on his knees. "I want us to talk about this so we can move on properly."

"It's difficult, John," Sherlock said and, for a moment, he thought he might just leave it at that. But he knew that wasn't fair. "I'm not very good with feelings, John, and certainly not big ones in such unusual circumstances." He looked over at John and then quickly looked away. "I'm sorry."

John looked up again and watched him for a moment. "I know it's hard." He took a deep breath and stood up again, sliding his hands into the pockets of his dressing gown. He knew pressing the subject would only make it worse, let alone the fact that he'd be opening himself up to admitting his odd need to touch Sherlock all the time. "I don't like you feeling guilty and I just wanted to help. I'm sorry about the things I said and I'm sorry for not remembering you were not on holiday -- that it was hard for you as well. If you feel like talking about it or shouting at me or anything, you can. I just want you to feel better."

It was odd that, after all this time, it took John's nightmares to make them talk about things -- about the important things. John moved to the stairs again, ruffling Sherlock's hair lightly as he passed.

"That helps," Sherlock said quietly and without thinking, but when he did think, he realised it _did_ help, even though he didn't know why. It was just a touch but it helped. It was one thing to see John, to know that they were back in each other's lives, but a touch -- it was so much more _real_. But rather than clarify, Sherlock said in a solid voice, "Thank you, John. I'm sorry it's hard for me to talk, but if I need to, I will with you, I promise."

Assuming Sherlock meant the talk had helped, John pulled his hand away and stuffed it back into his pocket. "Any time, okay?" he insisted quietly, continuing towards the stairs. 


	2. Sherlock Figures It Out

Once John went up to bed, Sherlock stretched out on the sofa. He tried to go into his mind palace, to find the good thoughts. He could find them but there was still a distance -- like he could see them but not reach out to touch them. Then it all seemed clear: it was about touching. When John had touched his hair, it was a connection. But how come he had felt the warmth earlier when he was napping? Was it just because he was physically closer with John on the sofa with him?  
  
He stood and walked up to John's bedroom. He knocked softly on the door and said, "John, could you help me with something?"

John had just turned the lamp off to attempt to sleep when Sherlock was at the door. "Yes, come in," he said, sitting up and turning the lamp back on. He was still in his pants, but he kept the covers pulled to his waist.

"Can you turn the lamp back off?" he said softly. He sat down on the edge of John's bed. "Do you think maybe I could sleep in here with you? I could sleep on the chair . . . I think it might be help if I could just be with someone else, with you."

John nodded, leaning over and shutting the lamp off again. "Don't sleep on the chair, Sherlock. You can sleep here with me." John shifted to make some room for him. He opened his mouth to tell him about the touching, to tell him that it definitely helps to be with someone, but he chickened out again. It wasn't the right time yet.

"If you're sure," Sherlock said, moving to lie on top of John's bed. "I apologise -- it's foolish I know, but could we just test it, just once?"

"It's not foolish, Sherlock. I know it's going to work -- you're trying to feel calmer, right?" John stared up into the ceiling as he spoke, thankful for the darkness.

"I've just noticed . . . that when you're physically closer, I don't know why, it just seems . . . like earlier, I could rest but all last night on my own . . .," Sherlock stumbled over his words. He lay his head on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. "I'm sorry, John."

"Just take your time and tell me what is going on," John said quietly. _And then it's your turn_ _,_ he thought to himself. He took a slow breath and ignored the voice for now. He knew he was going to have to tell Sherlock -- especially if it was helping Sherlock as well. Especially if Sherlock was feeling bad about needing John like this. His stomach twisted with guilt as he thought about how he'd been using Sherlock without thinking about what he might need.

"While I was gone, I used to use my memories, our memories, to help me get through. Now that I'm back, I feel like I shouldn't have to do that, right? I'm here. It's over. But I still feel like I need to use them, but more and more, it doesn't feel like enough. When I'm on my own, even in my mind palace, it's not enough," Sherlock said. "I don't know what it means. It doesn't make sense. I'm back. It's over -- but it doesn't feel like it, because I hurt you and those two years, I missed so much . . . "

"You didn't miss much," John mumbled, glancing in his direction but not moving his head. "Nothing I would have wanted you to see. I…I had gotten so used to you being around, Sherlock. So used to being with you that I _saw_ you everywhere. I had to stop working because I would see you in the office trying to guess ailments," he laughed softly. "And on the sofa -- God, I saw you thinking on the sofa every day." He didn't know what it was about the darkness -- it made him braver to say these kinds of things.

"That's precisely what I missed, John -- you needed help and I wasn't there to give it. You always helped me but when you needed me . . . and worst of all, I caused it. I guess it was easier when I was away because I didn't know, I didn't have to see, but now I do know, I do see, and I think about all we could have had if I hadn't gone."

John swallowed hard. "What could we have had?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know, John, but I know that time's gone and I wasn't prepared, I guess," Sherlock said. "I don't . . . know what I'm talking about. Which is a problem in and of itself. I don't like not knowing."

"I touch you," John blurted out. "No -- sorry, not like -- " He took a deep breath. "I pet your hair when you're in your mind palace, when I see you on the sofa because I can't trust my eyes even after all this time. And last night after my nightmare I saw you there and I got a bit carried away -- I don't know how you didn't wake up -- and I hugged you so tight, Sherlock, because you're home and I can't believe it." He was speaking quietly, and the words were pouring out quickly without his control. He realised he was making nervous fists and couldn't stop.

"That makes sense," Sherlock said. Because what John said made sense for John but it also made sense for Sherlock -- John's touch must have affected him even when he was away in his mind. "I've never been one for touching, John, but . . . " He swallowed. "Do you think . . . will this just be part of who we are now?"

"I want to say that eventually I will be able to trust that you are really here and I won't have to verify but . . . I don't know, Sherlock, it makes me feel good--calm, I mean. It makes me feel better."

"Should we just try it . . . and just see? We don't have to say how it'll be forever. We can just try, can't we?" He turned on his side to face John even though it was too dark to see his face. "Show me. Show me how . . . what you've done."

John turned just his head to face Sherlock, trying to see him in the dark. He could see the extra dark shadow of Sherlock's hair, and he reached out slowly. He swallowed hard before lacing his fingers into Sherlock's hair and curling his fingers, petting softly. "Just this. Just for a couple seconds," he murmured. But this time he didn't take his hand away after a few seconds.   

Sherlock closed his eyes and all of his sensations went straight to John's touch. "Yes, that's nice . . . it is calming. Is it calming to do it?"

"Yes," John whispered. His eyes were a bit too wide and moving quickly, trying to see Sherlock through the dark. But this was nice. All those times he thought he saw Sherlock and now it didn't matter. He could feel him. He was here. Real. 

Sherlock put his own hand up to John's face, brushing it against his cheek and then losing his fingers in John's hair. He stroked his hair, letting his fingers press lightly against John's skin. "It's nice, your hair is soft," he said, knowing it was kind of a stupid thing to say but it was true.

"A bit short," John smiled, closing his eyes to the touch. How strange did they look, lying in the dark and petting each other's hair? He smiled wider. "I missed you," he mumbled.

"I missed you, John," Sherlock said. He didn't lower his hand from John's hair.

"I'm sorry I was so angry when you came back. I didn't mean it," he continued. "I felt so guilty when you . . . when it happened, Sherlock."

"I wish I could have prevented you from feeling like that," Sherlock said. "You've never done anything but made me a better person, John. Even when you frustrated me, I'm smart enough to know that I am better than I was before I knew you."

"I thought that you died thinking I didn't . . . I didn't mean what I said in the lab, Sherlock." John had never told him that before, but it seemed important now.

"I know, I knew, I understood," Sherlock said. "From now on, we'll be honest. We only say what we mean, yeah?"

John nodded. "I felt guilty because at the time I did mean it, Sherlock. And if you hadn't called me then . . ." He trailed off because his voice was starting to break, and this is not where he wanted this conversation to go. 

"Stop, you meant it at the moment because I was setting you up. You were mad at a person who wasn't me. _This_ is me, John. The one who can't sleep unless you're near him," Sherlock said softly.

John nodded against his hand. "You can stay here every night," he murmured.

"Maybe I will," Sherlock said. He rolled over on to his back and reached his hand down to hold John's. "Do you think you can sleep now?" 

"Yeah," John nodded. He laced their fingers and held his hand back. "Good night, Sherlock," he murmured. He closed his eyes but all he could see now was Sherlock on the roof, trying to talking him. He gripped Sherlock's hand, trying to focus here.

"Wake me up if you need me, John," Sherlock said softly, "I'll be here."

"Okay," John murmured. He focused on Sherlock's hand, on their skin touching, and on the pressure he felt from Sherlock's grip. Eventually he dozed off and for the first time in a while he slept quietly. He had dreams about Sherlock -- about seeing him when he wasn't there and missing him -- but nothing like his usual nightmares.

Sherlock closed his eyes. He didn't need to think of memories, he didn't need to go into his mind at all. He stayed right there, in John's room, with John's hand in his. He slept.

John woke up the next morning in almost the same exact position -- still on his back, only now he was a bit curved towards Sherlock, facing him. He smiled softly as he remembered the night before and he finished the curve, putting his forehead onto Sherlock's bicep and simply resting it there. He could get used to this.

Sherlock slept the whole night without waking once -- he hadn't done that since he'd been back. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd done that. He felt John pressed against him and he opened his eyes and looked at him. "Good morning," he said softly. 

"Hi," John said quietly, not moving from the spot. He closed his eyes again just because. "Sleep okay?"

"I did, thank you," Sherlock said. "What about you?"

"Me too," John agreed.

"Is this going to change everything, John?" Sherlock asked hesitantly. He didn't want John to say they couldn't do this again, but he also knew that it was quite different than how they'd been before.

"I think it will a bit. Is that okay?" John asked, shifting so he could properly look up at him now.

"Well, things have changed anyway, yes? I suppose I was trying to pretend they hadn't, but that was daft. I just want the changes to be good," Sherlock said. "I know we can't say right this minute how everything will be but honesty this time, okay? From both of us. Whenever we can."

"What does the change feel like to you?" John asked, turning onto his back and staring at the ceiling.

"All right, Mister Smartie Pants, now I've got to be honest, don't I? Very cheeky of you," Sherlock said smiling through his nerves. "Fine, last night was very lovely and I'd like to be able to do it again. But I worry that I will want that calm all the time. And I'll follow you around like a puppy and I'll annoy you."

"To make it up to you I will be honest myself even though you haven't asked me anything. I think about touching you all day because I'm afraid if I stop you will disappear. The thought of going back to work terrifies me."

Sherlock turned on his side now to look straight at John. "I understand why you are afraid of that. But I'm here, I won't disappear. Eventually you'll accept that and won't feel that fear. But the calmness you've given me -- why would I ever not want that? I don't even want to get up now, John, because I want to stay here in this calm with you."

John swallowed hard, glanced at him, and then turned to face him properly. "You've been back for so long already, and I still have to touch you to make sure you're real," he said, meeting his eyes. "I know it takes time -- I just want that time to go by faster."

"I know that feeling, John," Sherlock said, because it was how he had felt the whole time he was away. "But now we've tried this -- maybe it will help things move more quickly for you."

John nodded. "You won't mind it I keep touching -- just small stuff -- even if you're not in your mind palace?"

"If it makes me feel like calm like last night and like now, then I won't mind at all," Sherlock said, glad that this could continue even if he still worried a bit about beginning to need it.

"Okay. I'll try not to bother you too much," John smiled. He felt a lot less guilty about it now and was glad that they could both benefit from it. 

"And will you let me know if I bother you?" Sherlock asked.

"When have I hesitated?" John smiled wider. 

"Fair enough," Sherlock said. "Would it bother you if we stayed like this just a bit longer this morning? It just feels nice. Safe."

"We can stay all day if you want," John said. "I don't go back to work until Monday, and we still don't have a case."

Sherlock slipped his arm around John and settled back into the bed. He closed his eyes. He could feel John's heart beating, like a connection with his own heart, which he knew he had despite everything he'd been told. He lay there beside John, just feeling comfort.

John flushed lightly as Sherlock wrapped an arm around him and he smiled, watching Sherlock. Things were very different now, but he had a feeling the changes were not over yet. The talking had been intimate, and maybe that was just confusing his brain now. He was torn between running from the room and leaning in to kiss Sherlock. _You're just feeling vulnerable. Don't do anything stupid._ John inwardly glared at the voice and felt a sudden rebellious rush against it. He was leaning in before he could stop himself and, while Sherlock's eyes were still closed, he pressed his mouth to Sherlock's, kissing him hard. 

Surprised, Sherlock opened his eyes and pulled his head back sharply. "John . . . I don't think that's a good idea."

John flushed and moved back again more towards his side of the bed. _You're an idiot_ , the voice in his head screamed. "I'm sorry. I don't know what -- Christ. I'm so sorry, Sherlock."

Sherlock lay silently for a few moments. The chances of both of them just pretending that never happened were slim, even though that would be Sherlock's preferred way of dealing with it. He soon realised he had a limited amount of time to speak before the silence made things even more uncomfortable. Sherlock said, "I'm sorry, John. Please don't be upset. Please . . ."

"I'm not -- no," he said quietly. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. Let's just . . . delete it. I'm sorry."

Sherlock knew John wouldn't delete it even if he could, so he said, "No, John. Let me say something." He swallowed and then turned over to face John because it was the right thing to do. "If there's one thing that's become clear in the past twenty four hours, it's that we -- well, I'll just speak for me -- have feelings that we -- I was previously unaware of. This is something I will need to get used to, because I like the feelings and I like . . . the closeness and the touching. But kissing . . . is not the same as touching and before there's any more kissing, I think we both need to be clear on what the feelings are behind it. Did you kiss me because you feel that way about me or did you kiss me because I am here, not dead, and next to you?" He swallowed again and then added, "Before you answer, please refer to our earlier conversation about honesty." He smiled softly.

John pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighed loudly. "Both. I thought I was getting carried away by the fact that we were now open about the comforting -- the fact that you were being so good about it. And then I did it anyways and even though it wasn't very long, I liked it. I mean, I felt . . . it felt good. I understand if you want to wait though, to make sure I'm not addled. That's probably a good idea."

"It did feel good," Sherlock said softly, rolling onto his back again. "It felt nice."

John swallowed and lowered his hands to the bed. "I'll get myself sorted, okay? I'm sorry."

"What does that mean exactly?" Sherlock asked.

"You know -- figure out why exactly I did it," John said.

"Okay, but . . . don't be a jerk about it," Sherlock said, turning over and facing John.

"What? I'm not!" John said, turning to face him. "Am I? 

"No, not to me. I mean, don't be a jerk to yourself . . . don't be all like 'I'm stupid for kissing Sherlock' or 'oh my god, am I a gay boy now' or 'I've ruined everything'," Sherlock said. "I mean, look at me," he waved his arm up and down his body, "it's obvious why anyone would find this desirable." He smiled at John, trying to lighten the mood. "Just be kind to yourself as you're figuring it out, yeah?" he added softly.

"Oh," John said. "Well . . . it's too late. I already think I ruined everything and I'm already freaking out about being gay all of a sudden. I will agree with that last one though," he winked, flushing and grinning stupidly. He covered his face again and shook his head before lowering his hands again.

"Well, you haven't ruined everything, you twit, because if I was totally against the idea, don't you think I might not still be lying here on your bed, touching your arm? And really, John? Gay 'all of a sudden'? Look, Mrs Hudson is _never_ wrong about these things . . ." Sherlock reached for John's hand and squeezed it.

"Shut up," he grumbled, smiling over at Sherlock. "I'm sticking to that."

"Fine. Although there is a chance you're just gay for me, again --" he moved his hand in a circle around his head, "this is hard for anyone to resist." He looked over at John. "Just be nice to yourself. Figure out what you honestly feel about me and don't get bogged down about the gay stuff. Do you think that's possible?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I already know?" John asked quietly, looking at the ceiling again.

"I will believe you if look at me and you say, 'Sherlock, I already know'," Sherlock said. "Don't bother trying to fool me, though, you know I'll be able to tell. And don't risk it if you think for one second, you might be trying to fool yourself."

John turned to face him and held his gaze. He was nervous, but excited, and he felt the same desire as before to kiss him -- to be as close as possible to him. He gripped Sherlock's hand tightly. "I already know, Sherlock," he said.

"And what is it you think you know, Doctor Watson?" Sherlock said, not shifting his gaze.

John held his gaze, practising the three words in his head, but holding on to those for another time. "I know that I have feelings for you, stronger than friendship. I know that I like being close to you, touching you, kissing you. I know that I like sleeping beside you and waking up to you next to me."

"I see," Sherlock said, now looking up at the ceiling again but still holding John's hand. "I see," he repeated.

John watched him for a moment and then turned to face the ceiling as well. "Good," he said. 

"Does this mean this --" Sherlock lifted up their hands "-- is giving you an erection? I like the touching, but I don't want to be accused of being a tease." He didn't turn his head yet.

John shook his head. "I know how to control myself, Sherlock. I know the difference between touching to comfort and touching to arouse. The last thing I want to do is get all horny when I am trying to explain my feelings are genuine."

"All right then, I was just joking, of course, but I also want to make sure I'm not taking advantage of your honesty," Sherlock said. "The thing is, John, I don't really do those things, do I? I haven't since I've met you and it was a long time before then that I did. It's not that I don't know how all those things work; it's just, well, you know I'm not very good at any kinds of relationships, let alone _those_ types."

John nodded. "I'm not expecting anything, Sherlock. I am just being honest, like we said."

"I know, John," Sherlock said, rolling over and facing John again. "So am I. I don't really know if I can be what you want . . . and it's a bit risk. I don't want to let you down again."

"You never let me down, Sherlock," John said, turning to face him as well. "Whatever I felt when I thought I lost you, disappointment wasn't one of them."

"But anger . . . you felt that, don't lie," Sherlock said.

"Well, only when you came back and I realised I'd been tricked. I didn't like being left out. But with time, I understood why it was necessary."

"But what about if I let you down now?" Sherlock said. "What about then . . ."

"Then we will work it out -- I mean, I think it would take a lot for you to let me down, Sherlock. Even if I get mad at you sometimes -- I mean, it's not really the same." 

"I don't know, John," Sherlock said. He squeezed John's hand. "Let me think, I thought I had thought carefully about what I did before, but I left out a few factors. I don't want to do that again."

"Okay. Just take your time, yeah?" John closed his eyes and merely lay there, holding Sherlock's hand. 

"Okay, but tell me if I do something wrong," he said, curling against John a little to be closer, for comfort. 

John rolled his eyes lightly but agreed. "Okay," he said quietly.  

Sherlock tried to relax again. He stroked John's hand with his fingers.

John wished he could hear Sherlock's thoughts but at the same time was glad that he couldn't, enjoying the fact that they could lie so peacefully together. Even if Sherlock decided he didn't feel the same way about John, he was glad they could at least have this. 

Sherlock lay there silently for a few more minutes. It was good, it was calming, John always made him feel that way -- even when he was away and John had no idea he was helping, the thought of John had calmed Sherlock.

John wanted to turn and pet his hair, but he wanted to give Sherlock space and comfort to think. So he stroked his hand with his thumb instead, starting to feel a bit drowsy.

Sherlock's eyes closed and he slept for a while. He felt safe.

John had a strange dream that he was getting married, angry that his best man was nowhere to be found. He kept asking where Sherlock was and no one would answer. When it was finally time they pushed him through the front doors and Sherlock was at the altar, grinning and wearing just a sheet. Realising what it meant he woke up startled, his cheeks flushing.

John's movement woke Sherlock up. John's face was flushed; it looked very handsome. "Maybe we should try kissing again?" Sherlock said softly.

"Hmm?" John asked, turning to face him. Then he turned his whole body and hesitated. "What did you say?" 

"Maybe we could just try," Sherlock said. "And keep being honest so we can head off any problems." He moved himself a little closer.

John realised what was happening. Heat flooded through his body and he nodded. "Okay," he agreed quietly. He closed the space between them and pressed his lips to Sherlock's.

Sherlock leaned into John's kiss. He kissed him back -- softly but not shyly. He knew how to kiss; it wasn't something one forgot. Plus it was John, John with whom everything else so far had always been okay.

It was like John had bottled the good feeling of touching Sherlock and then chugged it at once. He brought a hand to his cheek lightly as if to anchor himself -- even though they were laying down. He felt dizzy and happy.

Sherlock pulled back from the kiss and moved his body away a bit as well. He didn't want things to get too much -- he didn't want to tempt himself to rush anything. He wanted his brain to do the thinking.

John pulled his hand away from Sherlock's face and opened his eyes, taking slow breaths. "All right?" He asked softly. 

"Yes," he said softly, looking over at John. "It's nice." He swallowed. "I like it. Because I like you."

John smiled softly. "It is nice," he agreed.

"Does this mean you won't be waiting on my hand and foot anymore? Before it was just flatmate abuse, now it's worse, I think," Sherlock said, smiling.

John couldn't help laughing. "I did not wait on your hand and foot! I told you, I like taking care of you. You're the one that has to step it up!" he teased.

"Interesting. I do believe I was speaking last night about helping out more and you reassured me that 'it was all fine' -- now that's somehow has changed just because we've kissed? I told you relationships were trouble," he said and fussed with John's hair. 

"Oh stop! You know I'm teasing!" John laughed, ducking away from him. "It is all fine.

"Really? Because I think if it was all fine, I'd have a cup of tea in my hand right now," Sherlock said, grabbing John's shirt and just holding it.

"I'm helpful, not psychic," John grinned. He made to pull away but didn't out much effort into it.

"Fine, we'll get up together and get one in a bit," he decided to lean in and kiss John softly on the neck. Really just little kisses, a tiny bit tentative, but kisses nonetheless.

John snuck his hand into Sherlock's hair and petted him.

"That's nice," Sherlock said in between kisses. "It feels like home."

John smiled and dipped down to kiss his mouth again. Sherlock was all the home he needed and as much as he hated the nightmares, they had finally done something good for him.


End file.
